This Is The Best Day Ever
by AndromedaStarr
Summary: Harry and Marcone are hit by a spell in the course of an assassination attempt. Weirdness and hilarity ensue. Slash.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: AU fic. Pretty much everything in here belongs to Jim Butcher, and I make no profit from any of this. Also, this is my first Dresden Files story.

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><p>I thumped the end of my staff into the ground, and called up a fraction of my power. "<em>Ventas servitas<em>!" A whirlwind howled through the air and the door splintered open, fragments of wood flying everywhere. Inside, Marcone sat behind his desk, Hendricks in front of him. He raised an eyebrow.

"Mr. Dresden," he said calmly. "How may I help you?"

I frowned, and looked at the hole I'd made. "Why is your front door made of plywood?"

"I took the precaution of making all of my dramatic entrance points – as opposed to strategic, you understand – similarly flimsy so as to limit casualties when you inevitably break your way through them to make a wild accusation." He folded his hands on the desk. "I presume you came here for a reason and not to merely stand there staring at me."

I brandished my staff in his general direction, and saw Hendricks half rise. Marcone motioned him down. "You pissed off Summer," I said. "What the hell did you do?"

"Oh, that. One of their shapeshifters attacked a child. As I am the Freeholding Lord and Baron of Chicago under the Unseelie Accords, and the crime was committed in my territory, I dispensed justice as I saw fit. I take my responsibilities very seriously, Mr. Dresden, just as you do yours." He looked at me calmly. "May I ask how this came to your attention?"

"You know I'm attached to Winter," I said. I didn't want to say her name, didn't even want to think it. "My, uh, employer mentioned it. Marcone, you can't just go around screwing with members of the Courts –"

"Mr. Dresden," he said evenly, "you are aware of my views on violence against children. I have no need to justify myself to you."

"Not me, no. But Summer's going to come for their revenge, and if you just break the Accords whenever there's a child in danger..." I sighed. Who was I kidding? I'd have done the same thing. Still. "You're risking war in Chicago."

"If the Courts stay out of my business, I'll stay out of theirs. The people of Chicago are my business." He tilted his head. "Are you here to arrest me, perhaps? I would have thought that Winter would not be displeased by my actions."

"They don't want war," I said. _Not right now, anyway_. "But I'm not here in my official capacity."

"I see." He sighed. "Mr. Hendricks, please give us a moment."

Hendricks gave me a glare of warning, and stood. He wasn't as tall as I was, but he had a hundred pounds on me and he was all muscle. He used to play football, I think. It shows. He grunted as he stepped past me, and through the ruined front door.

"Are you here to warn me?" Marcone asked. "If so, I thank you for the sentiment, but it is unnecessary."

"The fae are not to be messed with," I said. "Now listen, I don't like you, and you don't like me either, but I have no urgent wish to see you splattered across the sidewalk. So pay attention, Marcone. Go through official channels next time."

"You tell Summer – and Winter – that the children in my territory are off limits," he said, and there was a timbre of steel in his voice that I didn't often here. "And the next time one of them is touched, the hell with the Accords."

"Marcone," I said in borderline desperation, "you are insane. Don't be insane. You want to start a war with the fae? When they know exactly which strings to pull? They'll bring things from the Nevernever that you can't even imagine and they will eat Chicago like a mid-morning snack."

He exhaled. "Mr. Dresden, I have my boundaries."

"Boss," Hendricks said, appearing by the door with a submachine gun cradled in his arms like a small child. "Move."

In a flash Marcone was on his feet, reaching inside his jacket and pulling out a sleek pistol. I recoiled unconsciously. "Whoa, what the hell?"

"This is a matter of some urgency, Mr. Dresden," he said, still cordial as he moved around the desk and past me. "I would advise you move as well."

A reaction like that could only mean one thing – an attack of some kind. Maybe from Summer, maybe not. Marcone had a lot of vanilla mortal enemies too. I gripped my staff and followed him out through the building.

The tingle of magic whispered across my skin, and I flung out an arm, stopping both him and Hendricks. "Wait." I took a step forward, trying to gauge where it was coming from, and what it was. "Magic."

Hendricks raised the gun, alert. I raised the hand with the shield bracelet, pulled power from the magic now seething around me, and sent up the shield in a translucent curve. "Stay behind me," I said, and approached the door to the alley. Part of me couldn't believe I was protecting Marcone.

Gunshots rang out in the night, and instinctively I brought up my shield, deflecting a small spray of bullets. It staggered me a little, and the shield flickered. Just as I was preparing to use more of my power to strengthen it, something rounded the corner and slammed into me. And into Marcone, who was next to me despite my clear and specific instruction to stay _behind_ me. He stumbled back, and Hendricks made a noise, but he waved him off. "I'm fine."

"You don't know that." I had no clue what the spell was, but my head felt a little fuzzy. Otherwise I seemed fine. I brought up the shield again, infusing it with enough magic to hold off anything similar, and ducked out around the door just in time to see a black car slam shut its doors and struggle to start.

"Go," Marcone said to Hendricks. "Mr. Dresden will protect me."

The nerve. Hendricks looked at me. I sighed. "I'll protect him. Go."

The car was still there, and I could hear frantic cursing coming from it. Newsflash – technology does not work well in the presence of magic. Especially not if you're going to be tossing spells around like an amateur. My body felt warm, but I didn't feel strange otherwise. If the spell had been meant to hurt me in some way, it wasn't doing a very good job.

Hendricks ran down the alley, and just as he neared the car it finally got started and heaved into reluctant motion. He cast a glance back toward us, then whipped out his cell phone and made for the SUV.

"He's calling Ms. Gard," Marcone said. "Are there more of them?"

"Don't think so." I finally released the shield and leaned against the wall, fighting to keep my breathing under control. "What the hell was that about?"

"Hit," Marcone said simply. "There's an attempt on my life every week or so, from all angles. As you may have noticed, I've crossed many people in the course of my life. I can't be sure which particular enemy that might have been. If only they had been courteous enough to leave a calling card."

"Christ, you think maybe you should get a new job?"

He waved a hand dismissively. "I've become accustomed. I know how to deal. You of all people, Mr. Dresden, should know how calmly and rationally I deal with formidable opponents."

Well, if that wasn't the truth, considering how he'd replaced his door. "Yeah, I'm kind of a hazard," I admitted. "To buildings, especially."

He turned abruptly, which put me face to face with him with only inches of room to spare. I had the time to notice that his eyes were the colour of sage in the half-light before his hands settled lightly on my waist and pushed me back into the wall. "You are also a hazard," he murmured, "to my blood pressure and to my insurance premiums."

"Blood...pressure?" It stumbled out of me before I could stop to puzzle out the comment. It dimly registered that he was touching me, and, in fact, that I could feel his fingertips lightly on the skin of my hips beneath my T-shirt. When had that happened?

"Do you know, Mr. Dresden, what it is like to be _frustrated_?" He growled the word and moved closer, effectively trapping me between his body and the wall. He smelled like some expensive cologne that made the bottom drop out of my stomach. "I would like to take this moment to remind you that you are the most frustrating man I know, and despite the fact that I may not appear to be lacking in beauty sleep you have been doing an excellent job of keeping me awake at nights."

"I – what? Come on, people try to assassinate you once a week. You've got bigger threats than me to worry about."

"I am not worrying about the threat you pose to me, Mr. Dresden. I am merely...frustrated." He said that last with the faintest press of his hips to mine, and it dawned with crystal clarity precisely what kind of frustration he was talking about.

I stared at him. "Wait – you're _gay_?"

His lips tightened in annoyance. "Meaningless designations. You think the world is a factory and one can label everything? There is no black and white. I do not attend pride parades, partake in ridiculous nightclubs, or habitually include rainbows as a theme in my wardrobe."

I goggled. I couldn't help it. What correct response was there in that moment?

"Don't make this harder than it has to be," he said quietly. "I am taking an enormous risk now in showing myself as vulnerable. I have great personal respect for you, Mr. Dresden, do not let that be unfounded."

To tell the truth, now that I was really standing there taking a good long look at Gentleman Johnny Marcone, he was handsome in a way that my favourite weasel word 'blandly' didn't do justice. It was unfair. I curse the ineffable hidden laws of the world that make the villains so much better looking than the good guys. Everything was there, from the touch of silver at his temples, bone structure utterly wasted on a crime lord, that trim, muscular body in his impeccable suit. His lips, Christ almighty. I wanted so badly to kiss him, just to see if they were as soft as they looked.

"Um," I said intelligently, and kissed him.


	2. Chapter 2

The reaction was immediate. His hands slid up my back, pulling me closer, and he kissed me like a fucking professional. It was hot and languid and his lips were deliciously soft and full against mine. Someone made a breathy noise that could have been a moan, and it certainly was not me.

I pulled back before things could get weirder, if that were even still possible. "Marcone. What...what the hell? We're enemies. You're a mob boss. You're a _man_."

He raised an eyebrow. "Which of those is the thing that really bothers you?"

"I..." I rubbed my jaw with my hand, hearing the rasp of the stubble across my skin, and stepped back. "Whoa. _Whoa_. You did not just...I need a drink. I'm going to walk away now, and you are not going to follow me." I took two steps, and glanced back over my shoulder. He was standing there with his arms folded, watching me. "Huh. You're not following me."

"At this moment I feel it pertinent to remind you that you are an extremely difficult man to please, Mr. Dresden. When I do not follow your suggestions, you are angry. When I do follow them, you are upset. Kindly explain to me what I might do to please you."

And at that last sentence, my mouth was dry. So, so dry. I licked my lips. "Uh."

"If I might make a suggestion of my own," he said in a tone of mild amusement, "I think speech therapy would serve you well."

"John," I said, finally regaining my ability to string words together and instantly regretting using his first name, "you're a crime lord. A mob boss."

"You said that."

"Yes, because it's true. I'm chaotic good. You're...I don't even know what you are. You have your own rules, you're playing some game with this city and these people that I don't know anything about. Me, I'm a simple man. I see people being hurt, I see monsters and evil out there, I help the people and drive away the monsters. That's not complicated at all. So you see, I can't be hard to please. You on the other hand –"

"Do you want to know how to please me?" Marcone's voice had dropped an octave into a silken growl. It was weirdly hot.

"Y – _no_." I stood there for a moment, realized things could not possibly get any more awkward, and spun around to resume my stride down the alley.

A hand gripped my elbow and swung me around. Christ, he was fast. His chest hit mine, and then I was up against the wall and his hands were under my shirt as he licked up my neck to my ear.

And then it hit me.

"Marcone," I said, aiming for a reasoned tone and missing by a country mile. "Stop. Please. Stop for a moment. Hear me out."

He drew back, eyeing me suspiciously. His pupils were dilated, and he was breathing hard. It was both absolutely disturbing and the hottest thing I'd seen in a while.

"Does this seem normal to you?" I asked him. "Gentleman Johnny Marcone and Harry Dresden, getting it on in an alley? Maybe you're gay or bisexual or have Dresden sexuality, I don't know, but this is not like you at all. Stop and think about this. I mean _really_ think about this. What would Hendricks say?"

He stared at me as though I was speaking the really bad pseudo-Latin I use for my spells.

"You know what this has to mean, right?" I pressed. "The fact that you're even considering this – the fact that you're standing there shaking with lust right now – you know what that means, somewhere inside. It means that –"

"Magic," he said slowly, and I could see it dawning on him. "It's –"

"The spell," I finished quietly.

He looked around, clearly only just realizing exactly where we were and what we had been doing. He took a step back, smoothing his jacket, and did not meet my eyes. "Can you undo it?"

"Maybe. Just...stand there and don't move for a minute." I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and willed my Sight to open. There was that familiar feeling of pressure in my forehead, and when I opened my eyes I saw it instantly. Marcone was like a tiger, a powerful and unknowable predator, all kinds of black and red, but he was wrapped in a strange violet web. Threads of the spell knotted more deeply into his head and chest, and there was a darker pulsing orb at his groin.

I swallowed. Wisps came off of him, twisted into something like a chain, and wound through the air to me. The same spell cocooned me just as it did him. I turned off my Sight, shaking my head.

"Um," I said. "It's definitely magic. It's on both of us, kind of...connecting us. I can only guess it's supposed to have some kind of lust-inducing effect. I don't know what the chain means, though."

"You mean if it would be wise for us to attain any distance from each other."

"Yeah. I have a friend I can ask."

His face darkened. "This is not something I would publicize, Mr. Dresden."

"Whoa, I didn't say publicize. This is not going anywhere. Bob isn't going to tell anyone, trust me." I rubbed my hand over my forehead. My body ached in ways I didn't want to think about. "This is the best day ever. Look, let's just go back to my apartment and talk to him before we do anything else."

"Bob." He looked guarded; wisely, I thought. "How can you be certain he will not divulge our situation?"

"Look, you're trusting me this far, just go a little further. You know I'm a man of my word. You'll understand when you meet him."

"Fine. I'll call Hendricks."

I put out a hand. "No. We can't go in your car. Call him, by all means, but we're going in the Blue Beetle."

He looked down the alley to my admittedly unsafe-looking car. Most of it was no longer blue, but it was old enough that it worked eight days out of nine even in the presence of my magic. "Because of the spell. It will interfere with the electronics."

"Yep." I leaned on my staff. "Come on, you can call him on the way. Of course, your cell phone may or may not last long enough to make the call, but hey."

He pulled a neat silver phone from his pocket and made a few swiping motions as we walked down the alley. I couldn't help but wonder what the hell technology had come to if cell phones no longer had buttons. It lasted only long enough for Marcone to tell Hendricks to meet him at my apartment. No information about the situation passed, but then Marcone probably didn't trust the phone lines. He _was_ a crime lord, after all.

I got into the red door, he got into the white one. The engine sputtered a couple times before coughing dutifully to life, and the expression on Marcone's face was worth a thousand words. "Just try to get us there sometime this week," he murmured, and buckled his seatbelt.


	3. Chapter 3

The drive, all told, didn't take more than fifteen minutes. Okay, maybe twenty. She does what she can. I pulled down the wards for us, and put them up carefully behind us. Mister shoulder-blocked my leg in greeting as he always does, and I bent down to scratch behind his ears for the required thirty seconds before he sauntered off.

There was a growl, which cut itself off halfway through. Mouse stood in my bedroom doorway, enormous and shaggy and grey, his head cocked. He looked interested. He took a step forward, and Marcone looked at me.

"Dresden," he said, quite calmly.

"Mouse, he's a friend." I regretted it the moment I said it. "Um, well, not really, but he has to be here right now, so don't eat him." I gave his head a pat. "Hungry?"

His tail thumped on the floor, and he trotted into the kitchen. "Give me a moment," I said to Marcone, and went to pour some kibble into Mouse's bowl. "Listen," I told him quietly, "a big guy with red hair is going to come by soon. Let him in." He nodded, and gave me a doggy grin before digging into his food. My apprentice Molly was nowhere in sight, thank God for small mercies.

"Okay," I began, moving back into the living room where Marcone was apparently making a point of touching everything I owned. He was wandering around the small space, trailing his fingers over the upholstery of the couch, touching the walls, leafing through a paperback lying on the table. "Um, if you're done scent-marking..."

He turned, idly picking up a T-shirt I had left lying over the back of a chair. "Oh, are you my territory now? Shall I establish dominance?"

The words sent a thrill up my spine against my will, but I wasn't sure if he'd meant it like that. "This isn't a pissing contest. Your dick is bigger than my dick, whatever. We have bigger problems –"

"Is it now." He was suddenly very, very still, regarding me with an absolutely predatory expression. His eyes glinted in the faint light. "Why, Mr. Dresden, I was not aware that you had that kind of interest in me."

"What? No, it's the spell –"

"If I had known," he purred, advancing on me, sinuous and elegant as a wildcat, "I would doubtless have been much more _appreciative_ of your assistance over the years."

I really, _really_ wanted a glass of water.

"Marcone, eyes on the prize here." I sidestepped him awkwardly, and leaned down to pull open the trapdoor to the sub-cellar. "Come on, down we go."

In the small space of my alchemy laboratory, I rummaged through the shelf with Bob on it until I found the familiar white of the skull, half-hidden among romance novels. "Bob, wake up. We have a problem."

Two orange flames sparked in the skull's eye sockets, and the jaw opened a little as Bob made a yawning noise. "Hey, Boss – huh. That's funny." I didn't say anything, standing still and letting him survey me. "Ooh, that's got to be embarrassing. How did it happen?"

"Someone came to kill him, and I don't know if a spell backfired or what. We need to undo it." I glanced over my shoulder, and then stepped aside to give the skull a straight line of sight to Marcone – or vice versa. "Bob, this is Gentleman Johnny Marcone. Marcone, this is Bob."

Marcone blinked, once. "I am assuming you are not actually a skull."

"Nope. I'm a spirit of air and intellect with the sad history of being cursed to inhabit this thing and serve wizards."

"Can you assist us?"

"Possibly," Bob said cheerfully. "Give me a moment to take a proper look."

I looked at Marcone. "You took that better than I thought you would."

"Mr. Dresden," he replied dryly. "When I am around you, my mind is open to every impossibility."

We stood there a minute, and then I said, "So?"

"Boss," Bob said heavily, "you're not going to like it."

I reached for a chair. "Give it to me straight."

"Okay, here's what I think. I think the person tried to do a frenzy spell, to make you attack each other. There's still remnants of that intention. But for some reason I can't explain, it did the opposite and it tied you together. So now it has the effect of...pairing you, I guess. It's like a bond, an attraction. Also, I don't think you two should separate much." The skull bounced on the shelf impatiently. "Come on, ask me for the bad part."

"The _bad_ part?"

"The bad part," Bob said, almost happily, "is that the only way to kill the spell is to render it useless by creating a bond of your own."

There was a pause. I thought about that. "You're _not_ saying –"

"No," Bob said. "I'm not saying it. At all."

I sighed. "Jesus."

Marcone looked at me. "What does it mean, bond?"

"Hey, he's not an it."

"Technically," the spirit interjected, "I have no gender at all, so he's right."

"Shut up," I said irritably. "He means the spell's here to stay unless and until we bond in another way. Its purpose is to keep us together; if we find ourselves bonded by another means, there will be no more need for the spell and it should dissolve."

"What other means?"

I closed my eyes. "Bob."

"Want to know the best way to forge a bond with someone?" Bob asked brightly. "Sex. All those hormones, those pesky little emotions? Brilliant way to make a connection. Even better when there's the force of love behind it, but I don't think you _have_ to be in love per se for it to work."

"The skull is saying," Marcone said slowly, "that you and I must have sex otherwise we will be permanently connected to each other's genitals by an invisible chain."

I raised an eyebrow. What the hell do I really get mixed up in? "Pretty much."

"And preferably with emotion behind it."

"Yep."

"Well." Marcone reached up to his throat and loosened his tie. "I don't see that we have another option."

I goggled at him. "What."

"Mr. Dresden, I do not particularly fancy spending the rest of my life attached to your testicles."

There are just some things in life that you never, ever expect to ever hear someone say. For different people it's different things, like that ridiculous song where Michael Bolton gives an infamous line from Scarface. For Gentleman Johnny Marcone, not even my wildest nightmares could have contrived such a situation as the one that had made him say the sentence he just had.

"Wow," I said. "Definitely not something I ever thought I'd hear you say."

"Desperate times." He put one foot on the ladder. "Your bedroom, then?" I stared at him. "I am not about to have sex with you in front of a sentient creature, even if it is genderless."

"Oh, by all means," Bob said with a grin in his voice. "Feel free."

Marcone dismissed the surroundings with a wave, climbing the first couple rungs. "Too much clutter, not enough space. I will go first, and you will not stare at my ass like a craven whore as I climb."

My face burned with guilt; that was exactly what I had been doing. "Of course not."

I pulled myself up behind him, and opened my bedroom door. I cleared a few random articles of clothing off of my bed, moved my cowboy boots into a corner, and started fixing the sheets – anything to avoid the situation.

Cool fingers touched my wrist. "There is no point postponing this, Mr. Dresden," he said, and I turned to find that he had removed his jacket and placed it neatly on my dresser, along with his tie. His cufflinks followed a moment later.

I swallowed. _This is not happening_. "You're acting like this isn't as weird for you as it is for me."

"Appearances are deceptive." He reached up to begin unbuttoning his shirt, then stopped. "I would prefer if I was not the only one doing this."

"Sorry." I sat on the bed and unlaced my boots. They went into a corner with my socks, and I hesitated before pulling my T-shirt over my head.

Marcone didn't comment – perhaps deliberately – but he unbuttoned his shirt in record timing without seeming at all in a hurry. Clearly he took excellent care of himself; his torso was flat and hard, scored with lines of definition. I glanced down at my own rather skinny chest.

A fingertip touched my collarbone, traced along its length before dropping to trace a scar on my upper chest. "I didn't realize you had so many scars," he murmured.

"It's hard out there for a wizard. I'm kind of damaged goods."

"I don't recall saying they were bad." He took a step closer, shrugging off his shirt and reaching past me to lay it on the dresser with his jacket. I could feel the heat radiating from his body. He smelled so, so good. "There is no need to be self-conscious, Mr. Dresden. At times I wonder if you have ever seen yourself in a mirror."

That gave me pause. "You're the second person to tell me that this week."

"Then listen to me, if not to her. You are peculiarly exquisite. Perhaps an acquired taste, but it is a taste I have acquired...and not because of this annoyance of a spell." He smoothed a hand down my chest, his thumb just brushing a nipple. "I would have had you on your knees gladly these last four years if you had been willing."

My mind set off at a million miles an hour at that, and I managed to rein it in enough to sputter, "Me on my knees? That's not the way this is going."

"Oh?" He cocked his head, smiling ever so slightly as he slid his hand lower, inside my jeans. "Had you planned on bending me over the dresser? That's going to take quite a bit of seduction on your part, Mr. Dresden. I'm not sure I'm inclined to...put out on the first date."

_First_ date? I told myself to stop thinking, and my breath hitched as his fingers dipped lower. He closed the distance between us, and I felt the barest brush of stubble against my neck as he leaned in, inhaling. I had to react, to do something, but what I ended up doing was bringing my hands up to his shoulders, and that was just all wrong, because they were smooth and tanned and muscled and this was _all_ the spell's fault. Damn wizards.

I put one hand in his hair, tentatively, brushing my thumb over the streak of silver at his temple, and he lifted his head. Green eyes looked fearlessly into mine, and before I could think again, I kissed him.

The response was immediate, and all at once I had an armful of John Marcone, his body pressed up against mine and his tongue hot against my own. The sensation shot straight to my groin. I bit back a groan and said to hell with control. This was not the time for petty issues about sexuality and enmity.

I wrapped my arms around him, effectively imprisoning him in my grasp, but he clearly had no problem with that because he just arched against me, and the hand in my jeans found its goal. I had to break the kiss to gasp, because the feel of that strong sure hand stroking me was too much. He smirked, and tilted his head back to bite at my neck, just hard enough to mingle a little pain with the pleasure, and all at once I didn't think I could get any harder.

"If you keep touching me like that, we're not going to get to sex," I panted.

"A man your age should have a reasonable refractory period, Mr. Dresden," he murmured into my hair.

"When you have your hand on my dick," I said, "you can call me Harry."

I didn't miss his predatory smile. "Besides," he continued, "that just ensures that it's me who'll be fucking you."

Oh God. Marcone said 'fuck'. It was the first time I'd ever heard it from his lips, and it sounded sexy beyond words. "Hell you say," I growled, and pulled his hand from inside my jeans, immediately regretting the loss of contact. They were far too tight, but I ignored that in favour of attacking his pants. A button popped off, bouncing along the floor to skate under my bed.

He raised an eyebrow. "Are you always this eager?"

"Shut up, John," I said, and then Jesus Christ, there was his cock, thick and hard and _Harry, you're straight_. I stepped out of my own jeans then, and pushed him down on the bed, and his eyebrow got a little higher. But then I wiped that smug look right off his face by kneeling between his legs and giving myself a mouthful of Marcone.

I'd been apprehensive about it, but it didn't taste like much, just the salty muskiness of his skin. I didn't know how to give a blowjob for the life of me, but it didn't seem to matter because his head fell back on my pillow and I felt the fingers of one hand feeling gently through my hair.

He was big, and I couldn't take him all, but he didn't seem to mind. Not when I licked my way up his erection like I was eating ice cream, not when I sucked it like I was getting paid for it, not when I dipped a little lower and dragged my tongue across the thin skin of his balls.

He gave a moan that was half a breath, and I could feel his hips moving fluidly beneath my hand where I had it spread over his hipbone. He pushed up into my mouth, and I went as far down on his cock as I dared without choking. Another moan answered me, this one a little louder.

I lifted my head, smirking. "You like that, huh?"

Half-lidded green eyes regarded me, tinted with amusement. "Yes, Harry. When was the last time _you_ got a blowjob?"

"Wait, wait," I protested. "I'm the one seducing you here." My brain seized as soon as I'd said it. Hello, 2012, you have made my life so much weirder.

He was up in a flash, shoving me back down onto the bed, and gripped me in a loose fist. I bucked up into his hand without even realizing it. "Just lie back," he said soothingly, but he didn't bother to mask his grin. "Let me do all the work."

He was trying to make me come first, and I knew that, but all the knowledge in the world couldn't help me as he bent his head and took me into his mouth. Jesus. _Christ_. Sex is not something that comes fast and easy for a guy like me, especially considering my deadly lifestyle, far less oral sex. Breathy whimpering noises tore themselves from my throat, and I had just enough shame left to try to bite them back, though not enough to stop myself from arching up off the bed and into his mouth like a whore.

Marcone made a guttural growling noise in his throat, and the vibrations shot pleasure through my cock and into every single nerve I possessed everywhere. I grabbed the back of his head and pulled him up before he could bring me over the edge, desperately thinking the most unsexy thoughts I could. The real visage of a Red Court Vampire. Mavra. Shagnasty. Okay, that one did it.

More under control now, I glared at him. "You are ridiculous. What is your issue with letting me be on top?"

His smile widened. "What is yours?"

"I –" It was a good point. "I...I'm dominant."

An eyebrow. "And I'm not?"

"Look, they came for you. I just got this spell by accident of circumstance. I'm trying to help _you_ here."

He laughed softly. He was right to – it was a bullshit excuse and I knew it. "Of course. Purely out of the goodness of your heart. There isn't possibly _anything_ in this for you."

I looked down to where he was trailing his fingers idly over my dick, and I wanted to come just from the sight. "Okay," I amended. "Maybe there's something in it for me. But still. I'm a wizard and you're not, so you're going to roll over and take my cock whether you like it or not."

He shuddered, and his erection twitched. Well. I hadn't expected _that_ reaction. "Oh, am I?"

"Yes, you are." _Even if I have absolutely no idea how to do this_, I continued mentally.

"Have you ever done this before?" He was still touching me, and it was driving me insane.

I batted his hand away and pulled him up my body to where he couldn't do any more damage. "No," I admitted, and kissed him again, grazing his lower lip with my teeth. I felt the vibration of a groan, and I did it again, harder. "Like it rough, huh?"

"Not always," he breathed, and grabbed a handful of my hair, grinding his hips against mine. "Something about you demands a firm hand."

"I'll give you a firm hand," I growled, and brought my open palm down on his ass with a resounding smack.

He moaned into my mouth, shamelessly, and pre-cum leaked from the head of his cock. I slapped him again, harder, and kneaded my fingers into the muscle. My hands were big enough that my fingertips just trailed into the cleft of his ass, and I tried not to think gross thoughts and reminded myself that I could always take a shower when I was done. For all the issues of hygiene it raised, though, it was strangely hot.

His hand reached down, wrapped around both of us, holding my erection against his, and gave a long slow stroke. I choked out a curse. I wasn't going to last long if he kept this up.

I glanced around the room, hoping to find something I could use as lubricant. Nothing was apparent. Marcone rolled his eyes and got off me. I tried not to stare at him as he pulled a small tube from his jacket and tossed it to me, along with a condom. "You walk around with lube?"

"You'll notice it's sealed," he said pointedly. "I never need it."

"Gentleman Johnny Marcone," I said, smirking. "Making all the girls wet since...how old are you anyway?"

"If you can't shut your mouth, I can give it something better to do," he said, climbing back on top of me and sliding his tongue between my lips to cut off my reply. "Before I change my mind, Harry."

There was an undercurrent in his voice I'd never heard before. Not quite desperation. More...vulnerability. I had never known Marcone to be vulnerable. It was sobering. It made me realize exactly how much he was trusting me.

I pulled him down and kissed him like I wanted to pour my soul into his mouth, one hand on his face and the other around his dick. He shuddered against me, pressing close, and I moved my hands, sliding them down his back to his ass. To give him credit, he didn't stiffen much, not even when I reached down to his balls and fondled them a moment before trailing up to just brush my fingertip over the tight pucker of his hole.

_You can have a shower_, I told myself. _You can wash your hands. Stop being ridiculous_.

I tore open the condom first, and he took it out of my hands, rolling it onto me with quick efficiency as I uncapped the lube and poured too much onto my fingers. "Turn over," I said, and I was surprised to find my voice a husky growl.

He did, pushing himself up onto his knees, and I ran a hand down his spine before slicking my cock. I squeezed more lube onto my fingers and circled his entrance slowly, stroking over it. "Breathe," I said, and reached my other hand around for his cock even as I pressed my fingertip past the tight ring of muscle.

Tight is a mild word for what Marcone was. I paid attention to his cock, waiting until he gave a shiver of pleasure before moving my finger further in. He was hot and velvety, and despite my misgivings I knew that he would feel so fucking good once I was inside. I curled my finger ever so slightly, and clearly I touched something amazing, because his back arched and he let out a surprised gasp.

"Whatever you're doing," he ground out, pushing back onto my finger, "keep doing it."

I scissored my finger in and out of him slowly, and added a second. My cock was throbbing so hard I thought I might pass out, what with no blood being anywhere near my brain. "I don't want to hurt you," I said raggedly.

"I have excellent doctors," he said, and leaned down until his head was on my pillow, long muscular body stretched out before me. "Harry."

The level of need in the way he said my name shocked me, and I wasted no time drizzling some more lube on my cock before I dropped the tube on the bed and wrapped my hands around his hips, lining myself up with his entrance. "Okay," I breathed. "Okay." And with painstaking patience, I pressed myself against him, gently.


	4. Chapter 4

I saw him wince, but he gave an imperceptible nod and moved one hand to his cock. I pushed a little more, and Jesus Christ, he was so impossibly tight that as my head slid into I nearly came on the spot. I held still, more for me than him at that point, frantically dredging up horrible images from soulgazes I'd had with evil people until I had calmed down enough to move again.

His breathing was harsh, but he didn't complain. His free hand twisted white-knuckled in the sheet, the other working his cock. He moaned a little, and I slid in another inch or two.

"Christ, Dresden," he panted. "That feels like a wine bottle."

I gave a shaky laugh. "Had one of those up here before, have you?" I continued my slow, inexorable slide. Another inch. "You are so _tight_."

"Jesus." He gritted his teeth. "How much more of you is there?"

I glanced down at where our bodies joined. It was wrong. So wrong. And so unbelievably hot. "I'm only halfway in."

"_Fuck_."

My stomach lurched as he said it. It sounded so raw and gorgeous coming from Marcone's urbane, cultured mouth. "You got a dirty mouth there, John." I sunk my fingers into his hips, went in another inch. "I like it."

"Fuck," he said again, but now he pushed back on me too, and I flooded my mind with thoughts of death and destruction as he took me up to the hilt. "Jesus Christ goddamn _fuck_, Harry."

I stayed still, trying to catch my breath. Then I withdrew a few inches, slowly, and angled my hips so I would touch that place that he liked. When I slid back in, he moaned. Loudly.

"Does it hurt?" I asked.

"A little. Doesn't matter. I –" His reply cut off as I thrust again. "That feels so fucking good, you have no idea."

I grabbed the lube, added a little more, and holding his hip with one hand, I began thrusting gently. He was so tight I didn't think I was going to last much longer even if I tried to think of every terrible thing I'd ever seen to kill my desire. I looked down at where his ass stretched to accommodate my cock, and holy shit, I was fucking Gentleman John Marcone.

"Jesus Christ, John," I choked.

He gasped, writhing on the sheets, and slammed back into me. "Fuck me, Harry. Fuck me. Come first."

I reached around for his cock, slapping his hand away from it, and fisted it to the rhythm we'd developed. He was slick with pre-cum, and he was so hard I knew he couldn't be far away from orgasm. But I could feel the pressure building in me too. It was going to be a close one.

"Fuck me," he moaned, and I saw the half-smile that curled his mouth. He was doing it just to make me come first and I knew it, but it was still so hot. I let go of his hip and slapped his ass hard, once, then raked my fingernails up his spine to catch a handful of his hair and tug his head back. My other hand slid up to the head of his cock and I rubbed my thumb over the slit.

"Dresden, you bastard," he groaned, and came in a flood of heat, all over my hand. He tightened around me, pulsing with the force of his orgasm, and all but milked my cock. I let the wave I had been riding crash down on me, and I slammed into him as I came like a fucking tsunami.

He collapsed, sinking down onto the bed, and I followed, too exhausted and boneless to move much. We lay there for a few moments, catching our breath, and then he said, "You might want to pull out before I clamp down on you."

"I thought you'd never done this before." I pushed myself up, and withdrew. The sensation pulled another spurt of semen from me, and I shuddered. I removed the condom gingerly, and aimed for the wastepaper basket next to my bed. Fortunately, I didn't miss.

"I didn't. Doesn't mean I don't understand the mechanics. I thought it might be useful information if and when I ever got you in bed." He rolled over onto his back with a slight wince, and looked at me. "Granted, this was not what I meant."

Oh, the spell. I had completely forgotten about that. I opened my Sight and took us in. Our bodies were wrecks of pleasure, emotions thrumming through them on some unknowable wavelength. The violet magic was gone, as was the chain was joined us. I closed my eyes, and relaxed into my bed.

"Spell's gone," I said tiredly.

"Oh, that." He exhaled. "Good work. Shall I pay you by the hour?"

I laughed despite myself. "Nah, you can take this one gratis."

He stretched, and I watched the muscles of his body lengthen and flex with appreciation. "I should have you sign a retainer. Although perhaps I'll build in the condition that sometimes I get to be on top."

That gave me pause. "You want to make this a regular thing?"

He raised an eyebrow, and pointedly looked down at my naked body, sprawled gracelessly next to him. "A gentleman never comes first," he said. "I wouldn't want you getting the wrong opinion of my bedroom conduct, so of course I shall have to eclipse my premature conclusion this time with future instances of better performance."

"John," I said, turning on my side and shamelessly resting my head on his chest, "once in a while you could really just say 'yes'."

A beat. "Yes."

"Very good. And you don't have to pay me, Christ. I'm not a hooker."

He shrugged, idly stroking my hair. "As you wish."

All of a sudden, someone banged on the door, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. "Who is it?"

"The boss said to meet him here," rumbled a voice. Hendricks. What excellent timing.

I glanced at Marcone, who looked more amused than anything else. "I am here," he called. "Wait in the living room."

There was a grunt of reply, and footsteps receded from my door. "Jesus," I said, pressing a hand to my chest. "He nearly gave me a heart attack."

"Good thing you remembered to close the door," he said, getting up to get dressed.

I frowned. "I didn't close the door." In fact, I distinctly remembered leaving it half open.

"Perhaps your dog?" He reached for his shirt.

Holy. Shit. My blood ran hot and cold and in opposite directions, and my stomach tied itself in a knot. "Yeah, probably." I grabbed my jeans, hauling myself into my clothes as quickly as possible without seeming like I was rushing. "You go deal with Hendricks. I'll just be a minute." He gave me an odd look, but nodded and slipped out the door, closing it behind him.

I facepalmed now, with both hands. "Molly," I growled. "I am going to _kill_ you."


	5. Chapter 5

She dropped the veil, and I saw her sitting in the corner of the room, face bright red. Pink and blue hair fell across her face. Her clothes were in disarray, and I noticed the looseness to her limbs, the way her chest was heaving. There was no way this could get any worse. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. "It's just, I was in here, and I didn't think –"

"No, you didn't think," I snapped. My brain was running around screaming inside my head. Molly Carpenter, daughter of Knight of the Cross Michael Carpenter, had just seen me have sex with a man. With Gentleman John Marcone. How the hell was I going to explain that?

"Harry," she said timidly, "that was...that was so hot."

I closed my eyes. "Tell me you didn't."

"I couldn't help myself," my apprentice squeaked. "I just –"

"This goes nowhere," I snarled. "Nowhere. Ever. Can you do that? Because I will mess with your brain if I have to, I swear."

"No, no." She backpedaled further into the corner, hugging her knees. "I won't tell anyone. Please. I just...I want to remember it. I – wow."

My anger faded somewhat. In fact, I was almost amused. But I didn't show it. "Put that veil back up and get out of here." I stalked to the door and opened it dramatically, and felt the draft as air as she darted out beneath my arm.

Hendricks and Marcone were standing in the living room, and they both turned to give me a weird look as I shut the door behind me. "What?" I asked.

"Thank you for removing that spell, Mr. Dresden," Marcone said with the barest hint of a twinkle in his eye. "Are you sure I may not pay you for your troubles?"

"No trouble at all," I growled. "Consider a new line of work. Maybe in Social Services or something. Fewer death threats."

Hendricks glowered at me, but Marcone chuckled. "Ever the comedian, Mr. Dresden. I take my leave of you now." He paused by the open door, and looked back at me, and there was definitely a huge grin on his face. "Tell your apprentice I hope she enjoyed herself."

I stared at him, and my face burned hot. "What – _how_ –"

"Floral perfume, coming from the northwest corner. Also, I was not too occupied to hear the noises she made." He smirked at me. "Until I need you again," he said coyly, tipped an invisible hat, and closed the door.

I stood there in my living room, gawking at nothing, and then howled, "Margaret Katherine Amanda Carpenter, I am going to _kill you_!"


End file.
